Just Dinner
by RhondaStar
Summary: A continuation of sorts of Series 5 Episode 2. I tried to think of something that could legitimately happen and so we have this short scene with a possible route for the next 'stage' of their relationship. Tracking series 5 as it goes on...
1. Chapter 1

**_This popped into my head whilst re-watching the end of series 5, episode 2 for the 100th time! I wondered how the writers could gently alter their relationship. A short stand-alone piece on how I thought things could go..._**

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><p><strong><em>Just <em>Dinner**

She usually brought him tea around 10:30 after the breakfast rush. Just as things were settling a little and he'd be sat at his desk working on his papers. He liked two sugars and two biscuits.

She knew these things. Seemingly insignificant things. But they made the day what it was.

Only this morning was different. She was slightly late, struggling with her order book and time had gone on, at 10:45 she was still at her desk.

She swung round in her chair at the knock on the door, surprised to find him there with a cup of tea.

"Mr. Carson, I'm sorry I'm running behind."

"No matter, I bought this for you."

She almost fell from her seat.

"Oh, what's brought this on?"

He placed the delicate china cup – her favourite – on the table in front of her, casting an eye at the books she was doing as he did.

"You see I wanted to ask you a favour."

"Goodness, this is a turn up." She leant back in her chair, watching him carefully as she sipped her tea. Things had changed recently, he'd changed, she wasn't quite sure how, it was as subtle as a shift in the breeze but it was different, definitely different.

"With the family dining at the Gladstone estate I thought I might take the evening off. We only have Mr Branson to see to and Thomas and Moseley can handle that."

"Of course they can and of course you must, you never take time for yourself."

He nodded, solemnly, his face set as he stared over her head out of the window.

"Will you be going anywhere nice can I ask?"

"Yes, I er… I've booked a table at_*"

"Oh my, very nice indeed. Are you," she bit down on her lip thinking of the recent friendship he'd struck up with the head of the committee, "Are you dining alone?"

"No, I mean that is yes at present but, you see I was wondering rather if you would care to accompany me?"

She was glad she'd put her tea cup down otherwise she might have dropped it.

"Join you?"

"Yes, for dinner, unless of course you're needed here…" He rushed on, fumbling; this wasn't how it sounded in his head!

She curled her fingers, squeezing her nails into her palm to stop herself from blushing, was this his clumsily stiff way of asking her out on a date? After all these years?

She thought of holding his hand at the beach, how forward she'd been, how brazen in the sunshine and sea air.

"Yes." She said lightly. "I would very much like to join you."

"Good." He clapped his hands. "Well then, that's settled. I've booked the table for seven thirty, I don't like to eat too late and these fancy places can drag it out."

"Quite right," she smiled as he opened her door, "So I'll meet you…"

"After the family have left, they should be gone for six thirty so we can leave after that."

"I look forward to it."

"So do I Mrs Hughes, so do I."

He closed the door. She returned to her books. It was the hour of eleven on the clock and suddenly seven thirty seemed a lifetime away.

_*somewhere perhaps like Anna and Bates went to in season 4, episode 6 but I couldn't remember the name of it!_

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><p><em>Sorry its so short, it was just a little scene I could actually see happening! Hope you enjoyed<em>


	2. Chapter 2

_I wasn't planning on making this a 'chapter' story but this scene came to me so I figured I'd write it down. Enjoy!_

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><p>"You're smiling an awful lot today." Beryl said, watching her old acquaintance as she scanned the orders in front of her.<p>

"Am I? I hadn't realised." Elsie bit her lip self-consciously.

"Has something happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not prying…"

Elsie rolled her eyes as she signed her name at the bottom of Beryl's order book. "Of course not."

"It's just that I noticed you were out last night."

"Yes…" she slowly closed the book, taking her time to stand up, avoiding meeting the cook's eyes."

"And so was Mr Carson."

"Mmm…"

"Oh for goodness sake, don't keep me in suspense. Did you go together?"

"And what if we did?" She held out the book for Beryl, feeling a little defensive now.

"There's nothing wrong with it. In fact it's wonderful."

"Is it?"

"Of course. And about time."

Now she smiled again. "We had dinner," she whispered, moving closer to the cook, even though they were alone in her sitting room, "And it was lovely."

"I never thought he had it in him."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"The man's been dancing around you for too many years. I almost choked on my ice-cream at the beach."

"Oh, you never did."

"Of course. I'm not sure Daisy quite caught on."

"Thank goodness, he'd hate to think we were the subject of gossip. The thing is…" She sighed heavily. "The thing is."

"Yes?"

Elsie leant forward, closing the door to the room, "Sometimes I think that we're just too…" She bit her bottom lip again.

"Too?"

"Too very different. We _are _so very different. The closer we get the more I fear we're too far apart."

Beryl gently touched her arm, "You are quite aware the man loves you. Aren't you?"

"No of course not." She said far too quickly.

"Elsie…"

Her eyes widened, she never called her by her first name. "Really. I don't think he's ever entertained the thought. You're dreaming it all up."

Beryl held her gaze, maintaining her silence just long enough to make her point before continuing, "He's caught between wanting to maintain the high, starched standards he's crafted all these years and…" she folded her hands together. "And wanting you to think well of him. Don't pretend you don't know."

"What I _do_ know is that he's so very awkward. We are far, _far_ too different, as time goes on there seems to be more and more distance between us. He's clinging on to a time that's almost passed us by. He irritates me like no other –,"

"And have you ever questioned why you forgive him time and time again? Why you're still here? Why, whatever he does or says or thinks you'll still support him? Why you care?"

"Of course I care." She sat back on the edge of her settee. "I do care. But can I settle for breadcrumbs of emotion? For a half-life waiting for him to catch up." She smiled painfully, "I'll be dead before he gets there."

Beryl shrugged, "Only you have the answer to that particular question."


	3. Chapter 3

_**I'm trying to follow the mood of this series in this story - I just wish we'd cut the crap now and get to the heart of their issues! Please review if you feel so inclined :-)**_

**Part 3**

He came to her room as always at the end of the day. She'd already poured his sherry and he was glad of their shared solitude – he felt tired, more than usual and as much as he enjoyed listening to Mrs Patmore's stories (and understood her friendship with Elsie) he wanted her to himself for a while.

He watched her tidy her desk, feeling weary and aching. "Why do I often feeling like I'm catching up?" He asked dead-pan.

"Because you often are," she retorted, not looking up from tidying her papers away.

"Don't mock me Mrs Hughes."

She stopped and turned to look at him, teetering on the edge of laughter, "Oh dear. Are you feeling sensitive this evening?"

"I'm feeling old. Life is passing me by."

"Now what's brought this on? Is your back causing you bother again?"

"No. No more than usual." He sat in one of her chairs, far too small for him, almost impractical.

"Well then," she watched him carefully, her hands folded in front of her, "what's passing you by?"

"Everything."

He held her gaze for a moment too long. Her bright eyes holding him, drawing him, awakening things inside he'd never known to exist before her.

"We haven't spoken since the dinner," he said sadly.

She shook her head, just slightly, "We speak every day."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?" She bit her lip watching his mind adjust to her direct questioning. She wanted to down her sherry and feel the burn in the back of her throat to distract her from the harshness she suddenly felt in her stomach.

He swallowed, "Would you consider going again?"

"It was almost two months ago, I supposed you'd just…" she shrugged, "…changed your mind over the whole thing."

"Seven weeks and two days." He said firmly. "And I haven't changed _anything_."

"Perhaps that's the problem."

"Do I disappoint you so?"

Her eyes widened, "Why would you say such a thing?"

"It seems I continually let you down. I am, it would appear, a disappointment to you."

"How could you possibly…" She paused, closing her eyes for a moment to centre herself. "Mr Carson," she said warmly, feet firmly stuck to the floor, unable to step closer to him. "You never let me down. You're just _you_. I wouldn't change it, not really, not in the ways that matter." She left him a moment to take on board her statement.

Finally she sat, slowly swinging her chair around to face him fully, a discreet distance between them. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she said. "And I apologise if I have but…"

"But?" His eyebrows shot up, hands resting on his knees to disguise the shake that had crept in.

"Life is passing us both by, and most of the time you seem perfectly fine with that. At least that's the way it appears to me."

"It isn't how it is."

"Well, that's not something you easily share. Sometimes…" she was growing frustrated, her temper rising, "Sometimes waiting for you to do something is like… well, it's agony." She threw her hands up, this conversation was upsetting her, and being upset made her angry and he sat so calmly, so at ease, and that angered her further. _What had he come in here for?_

"Do you not think I hurt too?"

"Well clearly you're hurt otherwise you wouldn't be sitting in my parlour melancholy telling me I mock you."

"Do you wish me to leave?"

She stared at him again wondering why he wasn't angry at her outburst, why he hadn't flounced off in his usual stuffy way. She shook her head, "No, I don't want you to leave. I'm sorry I shouted."

"That's fine."

"I wonder if you care at all?" She whispered, not daring to look at him.

"I care too much, far too much; I don't know where I am with it anymore. I don't know who I am."

He leant forward needing to be closer to her, "I need you to help me, but I don't know how to ask or what I'm asking for. I hoped," he shook his head, stared at his feet; "I hoped someday it would just work itself out, but it hasn't and now I'm an old man."

She reached for his hands that still rested on his knees, his fingers trembling as she pressed hers on top of them. "I'll always be here to help; you should know that by now, whatever happens I will always be here for you."


	4. Chapter 4

_**This will NEVER happen in the show (I've concluded) but it would make me incredibly happy if it did. I can't continue melancholy with these two for very long, they're just too sweet together.**_

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><p><strong>Part 4<strong>

It was winter and the ground was frozen. Thick shards of ice had formed over the river and the trees hung their limbs like dancers decorated in silver and diamonds; the ghostly autumn droop forgotten.

She slipped in the yard. She shouldn't have been out there in such weather but she wanted to check a job had been done correctly and lost her footing only a metre from the back door. She landed with a thump on her backside and lay there for a second staring at the thick sky.

Embarrassingly it was Thomas who helped her up, finding the crook of her arm and drawing her to unsteady feet.

She sat wet and flustered in her parlour as Mrs Patmore brought her strong tea and fussed.

Mr Carson kept his distance until they'd filed out and left her alone.

"I need to change," she'd said as he stared at her, filling the gap her open door left. "I look a state."

"Are you in pain?"

"No, not really, though I'm sure I will be tomorrow. Old bones don't forgive."

He allowed himself a small smile at that, "No. They don't. Can I get you anything?"

She bit down on her lip, "Help me upstairs, I don't want to slip again."

"Of course," he held out his hand, large, strong, and she took it to help her get to her feet.

She had snow in her hair and he watched it melt as they made their way up the creaky old staircase, how the tiny snowflake caressed the curve of hair just above her collar. Her dress was damp and the material stretched across her back as she moved. She'd lost weight, he thought that lately, he wondered if it were deliberate or something that came with age.

He paused at her door, uncertain, he never ventured into the female half of the servants' quarters. A line he could never cross.

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes, thank you. Fine."

He sensed her unease and touched her elbow, "I could wait, help you back down if you're not sure."

"Thank you, I think I'll be fine, I'll check the rooms on my way down. You mustn't be late for dinner."

He nodded once; they still had routine.

She changed into her other evening dress, she hadn't worn it in a while, it had to be taken in slightly around the waist and she was waiting for the time to do it.

She tidied her hair, wiped the melted snow free and tightened her bun again before going back to the hall. She took the passage through to the main corridor. A door she hadn't been through in a while was slightly ajar and she stopped still outside of it. Lady Sybil's room. An unused room now. She wondered which of the maids had been in and left it open.

She pushed gently on the handle and spied his tall, imposing figure by the window, shrouded in the dark heaviness of the room.

Moving inside she gently shut the door behind her and went to stand beside him.

It was cold. She felt as if the snow had somehow crept in there and set itself down, a blanket over all things.

"It's snowing again," he said observing the scene. "It looks beautiful."

She looked away from him and to the view over the park, "It does indeed."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Nothing a hot bath won't cure."

The thought of her naked in a bath did something to his stomach and he had to close his eyes momentarily to will it away.

She breathed deeply, "Are _you_ feeling better? It's been almost a week since our… talk."

He moved uneasily, stepping from one foot to the other, his head dropping but his gaze never shifting from the view.

"It's dark so early now," she said instead, watching as the flurry of white began to blind their view.

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose I'd better be getting back downstairs. Mrs Patmore will be ready to serve soon."

"Don't go yet. There are things I want to say."

She held her breath, willing him on.

"Elsie." He added as an afterthought and she let the breath go.

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure how to put it."

"Then don't put _it_ any particular way. Just let it be."

He looked at her for the first time since she'd come into the room, a silhouette against the dark, cold window. He reached forward for her hand, oddly warm and soft in the coldness of the room.

He stared at her fingers as he rubbed them with his thumb. They'd touched before but this felt different, somehow, he remembered holding hands in the sea and crushing swell of affection filled him.

"I'm sorry you fell." He said gently.

She smiled, "So am I, it hurt."

He looked up at her sparkling eyes, still so alive after all these years together. "I can't bear to think of life without you."

Her brow furrowed, "Then don't."

"The house would be empty…"

"Charles." She turned her hand over, palm-to-palm, a prayer's kiss, "just say it. Please. Even if it's just once and forgotten."

He stepped closer to her, their chests almost touching, the scent of her sliding over his skin. "I love you."

She closed her eyes; let the words settle around them.

When she opened them again he was staring intently at her, warm, caring, "I couldn't possibly only say it once and forget it. I knew that once I'd said it then I'd keep saying it, and I'd want more than what we have." He moved closer still, his knees brushing against hers. "I'm utterly devoted to you."

She looked up at his familiar face, the face that populated the majority of her memories, was part of her dreams when she slept.

"I know that."

"I want to be able to love you."

She bit her lip again, confused.

"I don't know how to say it. I mean I'm not sure how, if I'll do it right. I don't want to let you down, I let you down so often it seems…"

"Not this again. You never let me down; you frustrate me as a husband frustrates a wife after twenty years of marriage. Do you understand that?"

He nodded.

"I'm immensely proud of you, do you know how proud, when they asked you to chair the memorial committee? My heart could have burst when you told me."

"What if I get it wrong?"

"I'm sure we both will. We can't build our life on 'what ifs', not now Charles, not after so very long. If you want this, me, then we'll take the step together."

"I do."

"Good." She squeezed his hand, reaching for his other one and holding it in hers.

"I'm not sure where we go from here." He admitted.

"Well, dinner pretty soon or rumours will fly."

"I don't want to leave here yet."

"Me neither."

She looked up at him, her chest pressed against his, she could feel his heart beating, her thumbs traced the pulse point on his wrist.

"Do you think maybe I might…?" he asked coyly.

"You might?" She smiled lightly, that familiar tease she had with him, though her cheeks were reddening in the dark room and she was glad for the lack of light as his face moved closer to hers.

He closed his eyes and she did the same, heart pounding in anticipation as his lips trembled against hers. A delicate, light touch, almost non-existent, his bottom lip shivering as it touched hers, he felt her fingernails dig lightly into the back of his hand. He pressed harder, until she pushed back, sweet pressure.

Guilt suddenly swept through her as she realised she hadn't returned his declaration, "Oh Charles," she said suddenly startling him, "I love you too. Of course I do."

He smiled, "I was wondering."

This time he didn't hesitate but kissed her fully and for long, slow seconds the snowflakes ceased to fall as their lips experienced the pleasure neither had dared to even dream of.

His hands moved to her back, holding her tight against him, her lips parted and she sighed as the kiss deepened – suddenly believing everything she'd read in romance novels about being swept off your feet.

Minutes passed lost in that first kiss, that first embrace. It was she who leant back on practicality.

"We've been gone too long," she whispered against his mouth.

He nodded, voice failing momentarily, then he coughed and spoke, "I'll go down first." His voice sounded odd, emotional, hungry. He hadn't let her go yet.

"I'll take the back stairs and pretend I took long changing."

"If you're unwell then take the night off, go have your bath and go to bed."

"I want to see you later," she admitted.

"I want to see you too." He wanted to say he wanted to do that again, over and over again, as much as his mind and body would allow. But instead he kissed her forehead, "My darling Mrs Hughes."

She smirked, "You can't very well go on calling me that."

"I can indeed; I have great affection for Mrs Hughes."

She rested her hands on his chest, straightening his tie, "How about you have great love for Elsie?"

"Yes. Elsie. Whom I kissed whilst it snowed outside."

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><p><em>Maybe in the Christmas episode...<em>


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